My Hero Bares His Nerves
by NightsDawne
Summary: While avoiding themselves the night of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, the Torchwood team gets onto the subject of poetry in another game of Truth.


:Another one-off that lay half-finished in my writing folder for weeks, so I figured I'd finish it and put it up. Takes place on the night of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, while the team visits the spa trying to avoid themselves. Torchwood and characters belong to RTD and BBC, poems belong to the poets they're ascribed to.:

* * *

"There's nothing on." Owen sprawled across one of the overstuffed chairs, flipping through the channels on the television.

Tosh looked up from her sudoku. "Well, it _is_ a spa. We could always go down and try out the baths."

"You wouldn't eat a hamburger from a roadside stand, but you'll use public baths?" Ianto glanced over from where he was stretched out on the bed, his hands laced behind his head.

"They have inspectors and sanitation here," she protested. "It's different."

"Yes, because nobody ever got hepatitis in a bath." Ianto looked up at the ceiling again.

"Not by themselves, I don't think." Jack rolled over, sliding his hand across Ianto's stomach with a grin. "Wanna go find out?"

Ianto cleared his throat, looking down at the hand. "Everyone else is here, you know. That would make this, for the moment, our workplace, and therefore harassment standards still apply. Just because we're stuck here doesn't mean the date has started."

Owen scowled, flipping through the channels again. "And none of us want to hear about you two, anyway. Right, girls?"

"Speak for yourself, Owen." Gwen leaned forward on the sofa. "Ianto, did you say date?"

Tosh joined her, grinning from ear to ear. "How romantic! You're a couple now?"

Jack laughed, scooting up next to the Welshman's side and hugging his waist. "Well, he did say yes."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "It's just a date. Dinner. Movie. Not stuck in a posh hotel with all our workmates where room service stops serving at eleven."

"I tried to get two rooms. They only had one available," Jack mumbled into Ianto's shoulder.

"Then practice self control." Ianto sat up, straightening his tie. "Thank God there's no photocopy machines at least."

"Oh, they had one in the reception office," offered Tosh helpfully. "Why do you need it?"

Ianto shook his head quickly while Jack broke into laughter, rolling off the bed and onto the floor between the bed and the wall. Ianto closed his eyes, sighing. "Trust me, there are things you don't want to know about people."

"Oh, speaking of that, why don't we play truth again?" Gwen folded her legs under her.

"Don't you know any other games?" Owen made a third surf through the channels.

Ianto got to his feet, taking the remote away from the doctor. "Stop doing that. There's not going to be anything new just because you keep going round."

"It's better than talking to the bunch of you!" Owen scowled and wrested the remote back. "Especially if you're going to be relating how you and Jack snog in the cells!"

Ianto studied the ceiling while Jack climbed back onto the bed. "Have you been watching us, Owen?" asked the captain.

"Like I'd care," Owen sneered, turning back to the telly pointedly.

Gwen wrinkled her nose. "Ew, in front of Janet?"

"It was just the once," protested Ianto. "It's not like it's my idea of a romantic spot."

"Ianto prefers the morgue." Jack grinned, dodging as the admin grabbed a pillow and flipped it at his head.

"Let's avoid the snog question," proposed Tosh. "We should go for something uplifting."

"Such as?" Gwen leaned forward.

"I don't know." Tosh pondered for a moment. "How about who's your favorite poet?"

Owen rolled his eyes. "What sort of desperate wanker reads poetry?"

Tosh sank in her seat. "I like poetry."

Gwen smiled, patting Tosh's arm. "Don't mind him, Tosh. He doesn't have any notion of culture anyhow if it's not in a petri dish."

Tosh brightened again. "What about you, then, Gwen? Do you have a favorite poet?"

"Oi," Gwen made a face. "Not sure I've read any since school. I think I liked Emily Dickinson. She's a poet, right?"

"Most would claim so." Ianto took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Any particular one by her?"

"Honestly trying to remember," she confessed. "Wasn't there one about wild nights?"

Ianto smiled. "Wild nights, wild nights! Were I with thee wild nights should be our luxury! Futile, the winds, to a heart in port. Done with the compass; done with the chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor, tonight, in thee!"

"Well done, Ianto!" Gwen clapped, Tosh joining in.

"That's filthy, no wonder you like it." Owen stuck out his tongue at Gwen.

Gwen returned the gesture, then looked to Tosh. "What about you, Tosh? Who do you like?"

Tosh dropped her head to the side thoughtfully. "Charles Baudelaire. The Fountain of Blood."

"Sounds a bit goth," commented Gwen. "Know it, Ianto?"

"A fountain's pulsing sobs--like this my blood measures its flowing, so it sometimes seems. I hear a gentle murmur as it streams; where the wound lies I've never understood. Like water meadows, boulevards are flooded. Cobblestones, crisscrossed by scarlet rills, are islands; creatures come and drink their fill. Nothing in nature now remains unblooded. I used to hope that wine could bring me ease, could lull asleep my deeply gnawing mind. I was a fool: the senses clear with wine. I looked to Love to cure my old disease. Love led me to a thicket of IVs where bristling needles thirsted for each vein." He shrugged. "It's a decent translation, at least."

"It's wonderful, actually." Tosh nodded her approval.

"Now I know why you don't date, Tosh." Owen finally turned off the television in frustration. "Don't bother asking me. Don't know any poets, don't care to."

"Well, then, let's not waste time with you," retorted Gwen. "Jack?"

"I once had a boyfriend from Venus, who had an exceptionally long--" started the captain.

Ianto clapped his hand over Jack's mouth quickly. "Limericks don't count, especially that one."

"That's not a real poem, even," protested Gwen. "You're making it up. Okay, Ianto, you seem to be the expert on poetry. Who's your favorite?"

"Not even a contest. Dylan Thomas," answered the Welshman.

"Anyone not see that coming?" Owen crossed his arms sulkily.

Jack propped his chin on Ianto's shoulder. "If you quote me 'And death shall have no dominion,' the date is off."

"Nice one, not actually my favorite, though."

Jack frowned. "Same goes for 'Do not go gentle into that good night.'"

Ianto chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Did he write anything that wasn't about death?" asked Tosh.

"Of course." Ianto leaned back against Jack's chest. "Those are just two that are most quoted. My favorite isn't about death at all."

"Let's have it, then," encouraged Gwen.

Ianto gazed up at the light fixture above the bed. "My hero bares his nerves along my wrist that rules from wrist to shoulder, unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost, leans on my mortal ruler, the proud spine spurning turn and twist. And these poor nerves so wired to the skull ache on the lovelorn paper I hug to love with my unruly scrawl that utters all love hunger and tells the page the empty ill. My hero bares my side and sees his heart tread, like a naked Venus, the beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait; stripping my loin of promise, he promises a secret heat. He holds the wire from the box of nerves, praising the mortal error of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves, and the hunger's emperor; he pulls the chain, the cistern moves," he quoted, his Welsh accent more pronounced than usual. When he finished, there was a long moment of silence.

"How did nobody know you were gay in school?" demanded Owen, breaking the moment of reflection. "Surprised you weren't beaten up twice a week over that."

Ianto exhaled slowly. "Dylan Thomas was straight and married with children."

"Maybe he was in denial," offered Jack, nuzzling Ianto's cheek. "Because that one seriously sounds a little like boy-boy love."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "He's talking about himself, actually. His hero is his own alter-ego."

"So it's about wanking off." Owen curled his lip. "You're a disgusting lot, all of you."

"Owen, why is it that you can take anything that's beautiful and drag it into the muck?" Gwen got to her feet. "You know, Tosh, I think I'd like to go try out the spa facilities if you're still interested."

Tosh hopped up. "Love to. I've always wanted a mud bath." She opened the door. "You coming, Owen?"

Owen looked at the television, then at the bed. "Like hell I'm staying here alone with the two randy dandies."

Gwen followed after them, stopping in the doorway to look back at the pair. "I'll keep them out for a few hours at least." She winked. "Have a nice date."

"Thanks, Gwen." Jack broke into a smile, sliding his arms around Ianto's waist as the door closed. "So.. you couldn't make a little flexibility in your poetic interpretation there?"

Ianto turned to face Jack, running his finger along the older man's cheek. "I suppose you want to be the hero in everything?"

Jack tilted his head coyly. "I do make a dashing one."

Ianto smiled. "I'll give you that, Jack Harkness," he whispered. "I think even Dylan Thomas himself would forgive us if we took this one for our own tonight."


End file.
